


You Can't Run from New Year's

by Ameriphobia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, FrUKnewyears2015, Gift Exchange, M/M, light alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:49:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3195890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ameriphobia/pseuds/Ameriphobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Francis may be trapped in an airport, but Francis is still expecting a New Year's kiss. Arthur is...hesitant. For the FrUk New Year's gift exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can't Run from New Year's

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This was my submission for the FrUk gift exchange. The wish was for Arthur and Francis trapped in an airport on New Year's Eve. It's really just silly fluff, but I hope you all like it!

12:00

“So you’re sure you don’t wanna stay for the party?” Arthur’s half-brother Alfred said, as they parted from their obligatory good-bye hug.

Beside them, Alfred’s brother Matthew was receiving a customary kiss on both cheeks from Francis, Arthur’s French fiancé. Hearing Alfred’s question, Francis diverted his attention from Matthew, heaving a great, dramatic sigh.

“No, unfortunately. You know that Arthur suffers from a serious allergy to having any kind of fun,” Francis said, smirking and bumping shoulders with his soon-to-be husband to let him know he was joking, although this did not keep Arthur from huffing and rolling his eyes in response.

“Ha!” Alfred laughed, blue eyes twinkling as he gave the scowling Arthur a brisk clap on the back, “Well, he didn’t seem allergic to fun on Christmas Eve, if I’m rememberin’ right….”

Arthur’s scowl deepened as the three other men laughed at his expense. “That was- I wasn’t… everyone was drinking that night, you can’t possibly deny that-”

Francis bit his lip to stifle his laughter, enjoying his fiancés cute attempts to defend himself, but not particularly wanting to spend the entirety of the eight hour flight back to England with a grumpy Arthur, who he knew was a little sensitive about his drinking habits. “Ah, well, I think you have both of us a little warn out, Alfred,” he admitted honestly.

“That’s just because the two of you are like old men,” Alfred said, looking a little bashful nonetheless, “Mattie can keep up with me, can’t you Mattie?”

“Um, sure, Al,” Matthew said kindly, but gave Arthur a quick look that seemed to say “Please for the love of god take me back to England with you”. The look was almost imperceptible, but Arthur had to feign a cough to hide his surprised snort of laughter.

It was true that Alfred and Matthew were very young, a mere twenty-two years old (with Matthew having at least fifteen minutes on his twin, a fact that he never failed to dredge up when Alfred was getting a bit too cocky) compared to Arthur and Francis, who were both in their mid-thirties. But Alfred had already managed to come into an honestly ridiculous amount of money, surprising everyone who knew him about a year prior by inventing some wildly popular new game or app or software or something else that neither Arthur nor Francis understood, and that they had had to lie about trying to him a shameful amount of times.

Either way, Alfred was now living comfortably in an unreasonably large home just outside of New York City, and had decided to extend an open invite to all of his friends and family members to come and visit him for the holidays, even offering help with hotel and airfare to anyone who needed it. At first, Arthur had scoffed at the idea of going all the way to America for Christmas, stating repeatedly that he would much rather spend his holidays at home and comfortable, with just himself and Francis and possibly a few good friends. But gentle reminders of how much they used to travel and the dangers of falling into boring married life, courtesy of Francis, had encouraged Arthur to make a decision that shocked everyone who knew him, and book two tickets to New York.

It had been Arthur’s idea to fly home on New Year’s Eve, and he was rather proud of it. It would be easy for them to buy tickets, he reasoned, because everyone would want to be out drinking and partying and boisterously ringing in the New Year. They would avoid all of the typical traffic of any other day during the last dragging ends of the holiday season, the airport would be calm and quiet, and their trip, overall, would go much more smoothly. Not to mention the fact that the time difference would mean that Arthur could sneakily avoid the hullabaloo of watching the clock strike midnight entirely. Their flight would depart in the late afternoon, and land in England just as the sun was beginning to rise, leaving the official start of yet another year floating in the undefined haze of time over the Atlantic.

“Have you considered”, Francis had said, limbs draped gracefully over a living room chair and a book in one hand as Arthur proposed his ingenious plan, “That I might be one of those people who wants to be celebrating on New Year’s?”

Arthur huffed; Francis just wasn’t seeing the big picture. But, sympathetic to Francis’ love of celebration and socialization, he wandered over to his fiancé, bending down to rest his head on Francis’ shoulder and placing a gentle kiss on his neck.

“Trust me, love,” he said reassuringly, “Just think of what a madhouse the airports will be on any other day.” When Francis only looked at him skeptically, Arthur quickly added, “Besides, we’ll still have New Year’s day. And then we can do whatever you want.”

Francis’ eyebrow arched even further at this, and Arthur bit his lip, as if trying to trap the words that had already popped out of his mouth. “Uh…sure,” Arthur said, sensing that he was going to regret this, “Anything you want.”

Francis’ mouth twisted into a little wicked smile, and Arthur’s sense of apprehension grew. Oh, the things he did to win arguments with Francis.

Then Francis sighed, turning back to his book with Arthur’s face still resting on his shoulder. “Fine,” he said disinterestedly, “But you have to book the tickets.”

“I will,” Arthur said, turning to give Francis a quick peck on the cheek, “I know the websites confuse you.”

Arthur dodged the casual swipe that Francis took at him for that, and went straight to his laptop.

And so, at noon on New Year’s Eve, Arthur and Francis stood by a cab on the sidewalk, luggage in tow, saying their goodbyes to Alfred and Matthew.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Francis said, as they switched, Alfred flinching visibly away from Francis’ kisses while Arthur gave Matthew an earnest hug.

“Yes,” Arthur said, “We…had a lovely time.”

Alfred beamed, moving to take some of Arthur’s bags as the taxi driver opened the trunk, “Aw, well, thanks for comin’!”

Once all of their things were in the trunk, Arthur and Francis loaded themselves into the cab. Just before Arthur could close the door, Alfred all but shouted, “Happy new year! And let me know if you two ever follow through on this engagement thing!”, and Matthew smacked him for bringing up the touchy subject.

When the door closed, Arthur looked a bit nervously over to Francis. But Francis only sighed, smiling gently at Arthur and reaching an arm out to him, giving him a place to rest his head as the cab pulled away from the curb.

Arthur smiled contentedly to himself, lifting his eyes to look out the window. It seemed that, this year, he would be able to escape the trial that was New Year’s Eve.

 

15:30

JFK is a terrible airport. That is what Arthur had concluded upon their arrival in New York, when they had been forced to jump through all sorts of ridiculous hoops at customs in order to be deemed fit to enter the country, and it looked as if his opinion was not going to be changed during his departure. First, there had been some complicated problem with their printed tickets that had taken nearly an hour to correct. Then, they had had to wait on a line to go through security that was so long that Arthur truly started to worry that the looks Francis was giving him were smug enough to actually kill him simply with the powerful force of their annoying smugness.

“I am so glad we decided to fly on New Year’s Eve,” Francis drawled as they struggled, in a panicked rush, to force their feet back into their shoes.

“Oh, shut it,” Arthur grumbled, “If it’s this bad now, imagine how bad it would’ve been tomorrow.”

Francis straightened, having finally slipped his heel into his left shoe, “No, tomorrow it will be empty, because everyone will be hung over from having all of the fun that we will not.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at Francis’ childlike whining. “Stop pouting. Our flight leaves in,” Arthur checked his watch, “A half hour.”

Francis continued to look displeased, but grabbed his carry-on bag and followed Arthur as he dashed in the direction of their terminal.

 

15:56

“We should be boarding by now,” Arthur said anxiously, wringing his hands and rocking slightly in his plastic seat in the departure lounge. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was starting to feel quite guilty about taking Francis away from an exciting New Year’s Eve party at Alfred’s, with good food and interesting people and possibly watching the ball drop at midnight, for nothing. Even if at this point the thought of another of Alfred’s parties was thoroughly exhausting to him, he hated the thought that he had done something to detract from Francis’ happiness. In fact, he was starting to feel rather selfish for his actions.

Francis must have understood why Arthur was so stressed, because he gave him a sympathetic look, and placed a comforting hand on Arthur’s shoulder, rubbing small circles with his thumb. “I am sure everything is fine,” he said.

Arthur let out a breath, trying to let Francis’ reassuring presence rid him of his worry, despite the nagging feeling that something was wrong. But any attempt at relaxing was ruined mere moments later, when there was a cheery but somehow disheartening ‘ding’ from the loudspeaker, followed by a pleasant female voice saying, “Attention flyers. There will be a slight departure delay due to inclement weather conditions, and should be boarding in about two hours. Thank you.”

Arthur swore he could feel his blood pressure spike. “What?” he snapped, as Francis’ gentle rubbing of his shoulder intensified, “What do they mean ‘inclement weather?’ The weather was fine when we left! This is bloody ridiculous.”

“It is a sign Arthur,” Francis said, “It means that you should have stayed at Alfred’s and tried to enjoy your life, for once.”

Arthur stared at him, “You cannot possibly be blaming me for the weather.”

“I can and I will,” Francis smirked.

Arthur groaned. He had a feeling that he was going to be here for a very, very long time.

 

17:45

Arthur flipped to the next page of his novel, grateful not for the first time in his life for his ability to get lost in a book. With the help of some quality literature, the past two hours had gone by rather quickly, leaving him only with slightly tired eyes and a stomach that was beginning to rumble from lack of nourishment. Besides helping the time pass, the hours spent reading had done a good job of distracting him from his previous anxiety about the flight.

However, the amount of attention Arthur was giving to his book had started to cause Francis to feel a little neglected, and he had been growing more and more restless as the time passed. Finally, he rested his head gently on Arthur’s shoulder, getting Arthur to look up at last from the yellow-white pages.

“What are you reading?” Francis asked, with the dull tiredness of someone who has been sitting in the same place for much too long.

Arthur blinked, shaken out of his focus. “Uh, what?” he asked, eyes still slightly glazed over. Francis sighed, but before he could say anything, a buzzing noise started coming from Arthur’s pocket.

“Oh, hold on,” Arthur said, digging inside his pants’ pocket for a moment to dig out his cell phone. “Hello?”

“Hi Arthur,” Arthur immediately recognized Matthew’s quiet voice on the phone, “We just wanted to check and make sure you guys are okay…we saw some weather reports about high winds and they said that there were a bunch of flight cancellations.”

“Cancellations?” Arthur said, feeling his stress return full force, “You have got to be kidding. We’re just delayed, as far as I know. Should be getting on any moment now.”

“Oh, well, that’s good,” Matthew said, attempting to raise his voice a little louder over a sudden influx of noise in the background. “Alfred! I’m on the phone!”

Arthur chuckled. “Are things getting started up already?” he asked, honestly wondering where the boys found the energy.

“No,” Matthew said, his sighing tone evoking feelings of great suffering, “Alfred just invited some of his friends over to help get everything ready- hey, Al! Stop that-”

“Hey, Artie!” Alfred’s voice suddenly boomed from the speaker, causing Arthur to flinch away from the sudden change in volume, “You should just come back here and party with us. You can fly home another time.”

“No, Alfred, we can’t,” Arthur said, irritated, “We do have jobs, you know. The holidays are ending, and I am certain we wouldn’t be able to book a flight for tomorrow.”

“You sure? I bet I could work somethin’ out for ya!”

“We’re going home tonight,” Arthur said decidedly.

“Alright, alright, suit yourself,” Alfred said, “Shoot us a text when you get on, okay? Mattie was all worried….”

“Yes, yes, alright,” Arthur said, “Goodbye, Alfred.”

“Happy New Year’s!”

Arthur hung up the phone without returning the sentiment, still really just wanting to forget about the holiday entirely, and focus on getting himself and Francis home safely. Travel really was a bloody nightmare, wasn’t it?

Francis was still looking gloomy and under-stimulated, his face resting on one hand. “Why are we not on the plane yet, Arthur?” he asked.

Arthur checked his watch nervously. “Um….”

They both looked at each other in horror as the happy little ding of the speakers rang throughout the terminal once again.

 

18:03

Arthur’s stomach growled loudly. The mutual panic and frustration that had overtaken them, as well as the other restless passengers in the departure lounge, when the announcement was made that the flight was being postponed for an indefinite amount of time, had caused him to forget about his hunger almost entirely. But luckily for Arthur, his fiancé was not the sort of person to allow anyone to go hungry, and Francis immediately took notice of Arthur’s predicament, jumping gracefully to his feet the moment he heard the demanding calls of Arthur’s stomach.

“I will go get us something to eat,” Francis said, seeming happy to have an excuse to walk around a little.

“Alright,” Arthur said, “I’ll watch our things. Do you think you could also get me some tea?”

Francis rolled his eyes in the most affectionate way possible. “Fine. Maybe the caffeine will help you stay awake until midnight.”

“Well I certainly hope we’re on the plane by then,” Arthur said, horrified by the prospect of being trapped in the airport for another six hours. “Besides, why on earth would I want to do that?”

“So we can kiss,” Francis said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, a little mischievous glint in his eyes, “It is tradition, Arthur.”

Arthur huffed, crossing his arms. “Just because I gave into that nonsense last year doesn’t mean it’ll happen again, you disgusting romantic.”  
But Francis continued to wear his impish little smirk. “Well, we will just have to see, mon cheri!” he sang as he stepped out of the departure lounge, leaving Arthur to watch after him, eyes narrowed and suspicious.

 

 

18:30

Francis returned nearly a half-hour later to the sight of Arthur, eyes closed, and chin resting heavily on his chest, which was rising and falling gently with slow, even breaths.

“Je n'arrive pas à y croire,” Francis muttered to himself, walking over to gently shake Arthur’s shoulder. “Mon coeur,” he whispered, “Wake up.”

Suddenly, Arthur opened his eyes, much more abruptly than if he has actually been sleeping, and let out a snort of laughter. Francis blinked in surprise for a moment, before shaking his head and reclaiming his seat next to Arthur.

“That was not very nice,” he said, sounding wounded, but the corners of his mouth curling upwards with barely suppressed laughter.

“Well, maybe you should have more faith in me,” Arthur reasoned, “I don’t fall asleep before dinner like some old man. Not yet, at least.” Then his eyes flickered down to the bad that Francis was clutching, and he raised a significant eyebrow, “McDonald’s? Really?”

“I am afraid there are not many options,” Francis sighed, “Not ones with tea, anyway. Besides, it is not like your palate is the most sophisticated….”

Arthur made an insulted sound, reaching for the covered cup of tea that Francis handed him. “Excuse you, but my sense of taste is perfectly- Agh! Ow, shit, fuck-”

“It is hot,” Francis said dryly as Arthur spluttered, a bit of tea dribbling down his chin, “It says it right on the cup, look.”

Arthur did look. “Well, that is just ridiculous,” he said, “Who on earth would need someone to tell them that their tea is hot?”

Francis raised his eyebrows at him, smirking.

“Oh, shut up,” Arthur grumbled, smacking Francis away as he attempted to dry Arthur’s chin with a rough, McDonald’s printed napkin. “Stop that, I’ll do it myself…what is this?”

Francis shrugged, “Some kind of chicken sandwich thing.”

“You didn’t get anything for yourself?”

Francis made a face, “I think I will live.”

“Here,” Arthur said, shoving his little carton of fries into Francis’ hands. Francis looked apprehensive, but in the end the two of them both finished all of their food without complaint.

 

19:10

“We should go shopping.”

Arthur looked up from his hands, where he had been intensely focused on attempting to dislodge a hangnail from his thumb. It didn’t seem like the little bugger was going anywhere soon, however, and Arthur’s thumb was beginning to sting with irritation, so he decided to entertain Francis’ suggestion.

“Well, we can’t both go at the same time,” Arthur said, sending a curious glance over his shoulder and down the terminal, attempting to catch glimpse of some of the small shops that awaited beyond.

“We’ll lose our seats. And I am not spending god knows how long sitting on the carpet.”

Francis sighed, the weary look in his eyes suggestive of a life full of suffering as a result of Arthur’s unwavering practicality. “We could ask someone to watch them?” he suggested hopefully. “Come on, Arthur. It will not be fun if I go alone.” Francis accompanied this last statement with the powerful combination of wide eyes and long, softly fluttering eyelashes. For a moment, it seemed as if Arthur was close to breaking, a sour yet conflicted scrunch to his facial expression. But he soon shook his head, as if shaking off the effect of Francis’ siren song.

“Just go, we both know you’ll enjoy yourself with or without me,” he said, turning decidedly back to the excitement of his hangnail, “Go on. Bring back something entertaining.”

Francis let out a frustrated ‘Hmmph’ as he stood. “Fine. I did not want you to come anyway.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

Francis stormed out of the departure lounge, leaving Arthur to bear the alarmed stares of the fellow passengers who had overheard their little spat. Well, Arthur thought, they must not be the only couple feeling the stress of the delays.

Arthur went back to picking at his hangnail, trying to ignore subtle, simmering guilt he felt at letting Francis go alone.

 

20:08

Luckily, Francis returned from his shopping trip in a significantly better mood than when he left. To Arthur’s surprise, however, it didn’t seem as though he was carrying any purchases.

But Arthur should have known better, because when Francis got close enough to Arthur, he produced an entire bottle of high-quality looking champagne from underneath his jacket with a flourish, the flash of green glass, red ribbons, and a sparkling gold top shaking Arthur from his numb, boredom-induced stupor.

“How much did you spend on that,” Arthur hissed in a panicked whisper, trying to force the bottle down into a less noticeable space, eyes darting around to make sure no one was looking at them.

“Please relax,” Francis said, fighting off Arthur’s attempts to shove the bottle back under Francis’ jacket, “It is New Year’s!” He sat down, throwing an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “Besides, you did tell me to get something entertaining.”

“I meant like a book of crossword puzzles,” Arthur said. But he was beginning to calm down, and took the bottle from Francis, peering interestedly at the label. “Well, I suppose if we’re still here by midnight, I will certainly want to be popping open a bottle of something or other.”

Francis chuckled, “Oh, but I thought you were against such silly traditions?”

“Not when they involve alcohol. Besides, maybe this will dissuade you from attempting to kiss me in public.”

“I have not given up,” Francis warned, taking the bottle from Arthur and setting it gingerly on the floor at their feet.

“I never thought you had,” Arthur said. “So, we’ll wait till midnight then,” he added, reaching down to tap the top of the bottle lightly with his fingers.

Francis nodded, eyes sparkling once again, “Oui. We will wait.”

 

20:45

Arthur was not inebriated. He was not drunk, because of the many, many reasons that he could not possibly be drunk. The first being that half a bottle of champagne should not be enough to get any grown and seasoned veteran of intoxication more than slightly tipsy. The second was that Francis seemed to be perfectly unaffected, and Arthur simply could not bear the shame of being inebriated when Francis was not…again. The third reason was that they were in an airport, and while Arthur was certain that he wasn’t the only one drinking in this airport tonight, being properly drunk in one while the possibility of being boarded existed at any given second just did not seem like the thing to do at all.

And so, when Francis nudged Arthur with his elbow, and asked him, with a smug, yet disbelieving smile, “Are you drunk?” Arthur of course replied with a convincing, “M’not.”

“You are!” Francis exclaimed in teasing delight, “Oh, Arthur, you are as much of a lightweight as the day I met you.”

“I am not drunk,” he whispered, trying to ignore the fact that his head felt like it was covered in wool, “And keep your voice down. There are children here.”

“Arthur, we have been drinking champagne straight out of the bottle for nearly an hour. I think the children would have noticed by now.” Francis took a dramatic final swig from the nearly empty bottle, if only as a punctuation to his statement.

“Well, anyway, I’m fine,” Arthur insisted, blinking harshly a few times to better focus himself, before bracing himself on the back of his chair and lifting himself out of it, “I’m going to the men’s room.”

Francis looked suddenly concerned. “How about I come with you?”

“No, no,” Arthur said, waving him off dismissively with one hand, “I’ll be fine. The restroom’s just down the…hallway, thing. Stay here and watch our seats.”

“…Alright,” Francis said, still looking apprehensive, but allowing Arthur to wander off and out of the lounge.

 

20:53

Arthur splashed a bit of cool water on his face as he washed his hands, the feeling quite refreshing after sitting in the departure lounge for so many hours. Luckily Arthur hadn’t had too much trouble getting himself to the nearest restroom, finding that getting up and working towards a specific purpose had brought him back to himself quite a bit. He was now feeling significantly more sober, most of the fogginess and confusion having left him in favor of a pleasant sense of giddiness and relaxation. In fact, standing there making eye contact with himself in the mirror of the airport restroom, about three hours away from the start of a new year, Arthur was starting to feel rather at peace with his current situation.

That is, until the bathroom door swung open, revealing an irritatingly familiar face.

“What are you doing?” Arthur snapped as Francis glided over to him, smirking, “You were supposed to be watching our seats.”

Francis wrapped his arms around Arthur from behind, making Arthur very thankful that the men’s room was currently empty. “I asked someone to watch everything. I wanted to make sure that you had not fallen into a toilet and drowned.”

Arthur struggled out of Francis’ grasp. “I told you, I’m fine…what the bloody hell are you doing?”

Francis continued to smile playfully as he grabbed onto Arthur’s hands and began to pull him towards one of the bathroom stalls. “It seems that we have this restroom all to ourselves,” he said slyly, “It would be a shame if you did not make good use of it, non?”

Arthur shook his head. “And you think I’m the one who’s drunk,” he said, but allowed himself to be led into the stall, closing and locking the door behind them. Once the door was secure, Francis swiftly swapped their positions, so that his own back was now leaning against the door, arms wrapping around to hold Arthur’s body tightly against him.

“Well, this is romantic,” Arthur said, looking down distastefully at the piece of toilet paper underneath his foot.

But then Francis shut up his complaining with a kiss, and Arthur had to admit that something about Francis’ arms around him, and Francis lips on his, made him feel far more romantic than making out in a dirty bathroom stall like a pair of teenagers really should. For a moment, Arthur imagined what it would have been like if the two of them had stayed in America for just one more day. Perhaps they, exhausted, could have managed to slip away from the party, and taken up residence in one of Alfred’s many guest rooms, to do with as they pleased. Maybe they could have snuggled together, perhaps catching a glimpse of the fireworks from a window when the clock turned to midnight, if they weren’t too distracted.

But really, more than anything, Francis’ touches made Arthur feel like he was in their bed in their shared house in England again; comfortable and warm. Francis’ arms felt like home.

Of course, it was a moment that was destined to be ruined, and soon Arthur and Francis were jolted apart by the sound of a disturbed voice.

“What the fuck?” it said, and Arthur and Francis both fought back snickers, imagining what the man who had just entered the bathroom must be seeing underneath the door.

Francis continued to nearly shake with repressed laughter as he reached behind himself, fumbling to undo the latch on the door.

“What are you doing?” Arthur hissed, in a way that was meant to be quiet and discreet, but in reality could probably be heard echoing throughout the bathroom, which made Francis laugh even harder.

Before Arthur could get a proper answer, Francis had managed to undo the lock, and they were both thrown out of the stall by the force of Francis’ body weight against the door.

“Francis!” Arthur yelled, through a fit of nearly hysterical, but mortified laughter at the comically shocked and scandalized face of the poor stranger in the restroom. Francis also laughed as he grabbed

Arthur’s hands and dragged him through the restroom door and out into the airport terminal. They ran all the way back to the departure lounge, snickering and glancing over their shoulders and occasionally meeting each other’s eyes with a smirk. By the time they made it back to their seats, which were, by some miracle of god, untouched, they both collapsed in exhaustion, struggling to regain their breaths.

Once they had been sitting for a few seconds, and he had begun to come down from all of the excitement, and back to his senses, Arthur aimed a good, but not entirely malicious smack to Francis’ gut.

“I can’t believe you made me do that!” he said, chests still heaving with deep breaths.

“I cannot believe how out of shape we both are,” Francis replied, leaning his head back against the back of his seat, “When did we stop going for walks everyday like we used to?”

Arthur continued on as if Francis hadn’t spoken. “I’m so embarrassed,” he said, although he didn’t particularly sound like it, and he leaned in when Francis put his arm around him. Exhausted from their recent escapade, and now with a nice warm shoulder to lean his head on, Arthur allowed his eyes to drift shut.

“Do not go to sleep,” Francis whispered.

Arthur ignored him.

 

22:35

“We’re going to die in this airport. Aren’t we?”

“Yes.”

Arthur and Francis had been in JFK for nearly ten hours. Francis had taken to filing his nails, which he had been doing for so long now that his fingernails were so perfectly rounded and shapely that he was beginning to contemplate a new career as a hand model. Arthur, on the other hand, had started to play an exhilarating game in which he chose a piece of wall, stared at it until he felt as if he were about to begin bleeding from his eyeballs, and then chose another piece of wall to repeat a similar process with. During their time in the airport, both of them had read, wandered, done crossword puzzles, eaten a frightening amount of very questionable food, and played a surprisingly competitive game of “I Spy” which had been drawn to an early close, as their fellow passengers in the departure lounge became more than tired of being pointed at, and Arthur and Francis began to fear for their very lives. Their arsenal of things to keep them busy was quickly running dry.

Finally, Arthur slammed his hands onto his knees, seeming to have reached some kind of epiphany.

“That’s it,” he exclaimed, “This is ridiculous. It’s late, I’m bored, and I’m exhausted. I’m going to sleep, whether you like or not.”

Francis looked up from inspecting his perfect nails in alarm. “But you can’t! Arthur, we are so close. Just stay awake for less than two hours. For me.”  
Arthur huffed, leaning back in his seat. “Why do you care so much about this anyway? I knew you were a sentimental sap, but this is bordering on ridiculous.”

“You took New Year’s Eve away from me,” Francis snapped, not taking well to having his feelings called ‘ridiculous’. “If it were not for you, I would be in New York right now, getting ready to watch beautiful fireworks and drinking and enjoying myself, which, you must admit, is something you would not have missed for the world only a few years ago. It would be nice if you could do something to prove to me that you have not become entirely boring.”

That last sentence ended on a bitingly icy note, and Francis faltered upon seeing the hurt look in Arthur’s eyes. “Look,” he said, more calmly, “It will be fun! I’m sure other people will be doing it. Maybe they will even clap for us, like they did when you proposed.” Francis’ eyes watched Arthur closely, and he decided to prod just a little bit further, “Do you remember that, Arthur? Our engagement? You know, that thing that typically ends in marriage?”

Arthur put a hand to his forehead, squinting in frustration. “Really, Francis? Do you really want to do this now?”

“Well, we have to do it sometime!”

Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Of course he remembered their engagement- how it had come so many years into their relationship, in a rush of excitement and happiness following the recently passed legislation that allowed it. He remembered proposing two years ago like it was nothing, like it was obvious- the only step in their relationship that they had yet to take, and only because it had been prohibited by law. Arthur remembered attempting to be romantic and Francis laughing, and how a room full of strangers had, in fact, applauded them. They had even received an embarrassing segment in their local newspaper.

But then Arthur realized that he had been much more focused on engagement than actual marriage, and things had just more or less slid to a standstill. Francis wanted a big wedding, and Arthur didn’t, and either way the process was complicated and expensive. And, Arthur thought, what was the point, really? They had lived without a marriage certificate for ages, so why should they need one now?

There was a heavy silence between the two. Arthur sensed instinctively that every moment he said nothing was another nail in his coffin, could almost feel Francis getting angrier at him with each passing second. And yet, he could not think of anything to say.

“I’m beginning to think,” Francis said tersely, not looking at Arthur, “That the reason you are so against celebrating New Year’s is that you don’t want to think about how another year had passed, and you still do not want to marry me.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “What? No, that’s…that’s not….”

“It is fine,” Francis said, although it was obvious from his tone that it wasn’t, “It is fine, Arthur. I do not want to pressure you. Go to sleep, if you would like. I do not care anymore.”

“No,” Arthur’s voice was small, chastened, “No, I’ll stay awake, if it means that much to you.”

 

23:56

Francis had fallen asleep. The bastard.

Arthur glared down at the ridiculous man who was currently resting a head on his shoulder, where it had instinctively lolled as Francis had begun to drift about half an hour ago, and hoped that the force of his glare was powerful enough to upset Francis’ dreams.

Not only was Arthur simply bitter about the irony of the situation, and bitter about the problem of his own wandering thoughts and heavy eyelids, but now he didn’t even have someone to talk to as he waited the seemingly endless hours for their plane to finally take off.

Arthur checked his watch, seeing another minute pass, and feeling his current intense moral conflict stir stringer within him. He could wake Francis, but Arthur was loathe to do this, as a result of the peaceful and nearly angelic expression on his fiancé’s. But he also knew that if he allowed Francis to sleep through midnight, there would be hell to pay whenever Francis did awaken.

And so, Arthur occupied himself by trying to be as noisy and disruptive as possible, while still not waking Francis directly. He shifted in his spot, coughed loudly, and fished around in a crinkling old bag of crisps- and yet, to his chagrin, Francis slept on.

Arthur thought he had found his solution when it was seconds to midnight, and, to his amazement, the many of people around him began to count down out loud.

“Ten!” they chanted, only a few people at first.

“Nine!” As the voices gained momentum, Arthur checked to see if they were having any effect on Francis. No such luck.

“Seven!” Francis slept on.

“Five!” Arthur, filled with a sudden sense of urgency that he couldn’t quite explain, began to prod Francis with his elbow.

“Four!”

“Francis.”

“Three!”

“Francis!”

“Two!”

Francis’ eyes fluttered open, regarding Arthur with sleepy confusion.

“One!”

 

24:00

Arthur kissed Francis. He would never be able to say what had prompted him to do it, when he could have so easily chosen to let Francis sleep, and avoided it. But something in Arthur jolted into action at the stroke of midnight, prompting him to move before he could give it a second thought.

At first, Francis was still half-asleep, and too surprised to do much of anything. But he quickly regained his senses, and kissed Arthur back with enthusiasm.

They broke apart at the sound of a few wolf-whistles, but Arthur was surprised to find that he wasn’t embarrassed. Overall, the atmosphere in the terminal was probably more festive than an airport had any right to be after so many hours of delays.

The brilliant smile that Francis was giving him didn’t hurt either.

After things settled down, Francis took note of Arthur’s tired eyes, and allowed him to get some sleep at last.

Arthur dreamt that he and Francis were riding the London Eye, waiting anxiously for midnight. There was no one else in their car, and the enormous Ferris wheel had slid to a stop so that they were staring down directly at Big Ben from above. When the clock turned, the tower erupted with fireworks and Francis held him close, whispering kind things into his ear.

He was shaken awake by the sound of Francis’ gentle voice. “Arthur,” it sang, amused, “Arthur, you have to wake up now. It is time to go home.”

“Hm?” Arthur mumbled, before fully registering Francis’ words, “Mm, what time’s it?”

“You do not want to know,” Francis sighed, “But we are boarding soon.”

Arthur rubbed his eyes, which felt sticky, like they had been glued shut. “Francis?” he said, with a sort of casual curiosity.

“Yes, mon ange?”

“I think we should get married soon.”

Francis stared at him. “You are still dreaming.”

Arthur smiled. “No, really. I’m ready. I don’t care how we do it- I just want to be married now.”

At that, Francis launched himself at Arthur, planting a kiss on his cheek with an exaggerated “Mweh!”

“You fool. Of course I want to,” Francis said, eyes laughing.

Arthur yawned then, despite himself. “Sorry. Oh! I should call the boys. Do you think they’re still awake?”

“I am sure of it,” Francis said, while Arthur pulled out his phone.

It rang several times before Arthur was greeted with a groggy, “Hello?”

“Sorry, Matthew. Did I wake you?”

“Oh, hi Arthur! No, it’s fine, I was just…napping. On the…kitchen table? Shit, where’d everyone go?”

Arthur snorted. “Well, it sounds like you had a good time. Anyway, we’re finally getting on this damned airplane. Thought I’s let you know.”

“Oh! Well, that’s good.”

“And you can tell Alfred that Francis and I have decided to set a date for our wedding.”

“What?” Matthew exclaimed, starting to sound more awake, “That’s great, Arthur. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Well, I suppose I have to go now.”

“Okay! Bye Arthur, thanks for calling.”

Soon after Arthur hung up the phone, Francis and Arthur’s seats were called, and they finally made their way onto the plane. They both slept blissfully through most of the flight, and woke up to the first brilliant morning of what was turning out to be a very promising new year.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all have a really lovely year!! (:


End file.
